


Moonlit Lovers

by Apparentlynotreallyfinnish



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fairytale-ish, LITERALLY, Other, Rhett is Link's shadow, otherwordly beings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25726474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apparentlynotreallyfinnish/pseuds/Apparentlynotreallyfinnish
Summary: What if your shadow fell in love with you?
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Moonlit Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secondhand_watermelon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhand_watermelon/gifts).



> I couldn’t stop thinking about what Link said about a shadow falling in love with a person and when Melon threw in [this idea](https://secondhand-watermelon.tumblr.com/post/623631736073584640/okay-so-whos-writing-the-fic-where-links-shadow) of the shadow morphing into Rhett, I was compelled to write this.

If you step out the side gate of the Capitol, face the highest peak of the mountains encircling the kingdom and travel as far east as you can, you might happen upon a small village. It might be hard to find, since it’s tucked between a river as wide as seven horses nose to tail and cliff side so steep one would need special equipment to climb it. The village is there, though, to be found should you want to visit. And if you do, you will be welcomed with open arms. 

You’ll be told they barely ever get travelers. They have no riches, nor do they possess any knowledge to share that an average person would deem valuable. They don’t know more about fishing than the folk from the villages along the shore. They grow their crops the same way as every other farmer across the kingdom. Despite the proximity of the mountains, they don’t even have access to valuable ore or ingenious ways to mold it. But what they do have, is _stories_.

If you find this village, Brittlebell, as it’s called by its dwellers, named after the white, puffy flower that grows on the side of the mountain, you’ll be escorted to a house bigger than the rest. You’ll be seated into a dining room, large enough to fit most of the villagers, and served a delicious meal. After the meal, a man will sit by your side and ask whether you’re there by chance or for the legends. If your answer is the latter, he’ll give you a crooked, pleased smile and pour you a big mug of honey mead. And then he’ll tell you a story. And if you are fortunate enough, he’ll tell you my favorite story. The story of the Moonlit Lovers.

—

Many years ago, in a village called Brittlebell, a boy was born to a couple that had wished for a child for years and years. His mother was the school teacher and his father was the village carpenter. They named the baby Lincoln, but his name soon shortened into Link. Link’s father couldn’t wait for Link to grow up and follow in his footsteps, working at the wood shop. Link’s mother couldn’t wait for Link to grow up and marry a nice girl and give his Mama a bunch of grandchildren to fuss over. They loved their boy dearly and he loved them just as much.

Link was like any other child. He spent his days playing in the small patch of woods behind the village or swimming in the river with the other kids. His childhood was happy and full of laughter. But as he grew past the early years, something changed. The other children started to avoid him. It was subtle at first, but by the time he was in his late teens, Link knew that there was something wrong with him. He had no friends, no one to spend his time with or to share his woes. His peers moved around him hesitantly, whispering and pointing when they thought he didn’t see. Link tried to ask them what he’d done wrong to deserve the poor treatment, but all he got was widened eyes and hushed apologies. He even asked his Mama, hoping she could explain the unexplainable, but all his mother did was smile sadly and pet his hair.

When Link turned eighteen, his father took him on as an apprentice. The day had been long-awaited and Link was excited to please his father. Beyond that, his heart’s deepest hope was that if he learned a trade his peers would accept him back into their midst. But it was easier said than done. There was no better man to teach the secrets of woodcarving than Link’s father. He showed Link all of his tips and tricks, told him how to choose the right piece of wood and how to mold it from the inside out rather than from the outside in. He showed his son the most beautiful pieces he’d made and encouraged him to try out all the different techniques in search of the one that suited him the best. 

Link could see the beauty of his father’s work and he wanted nothing more than to make him proud. So, he tried. He tried hard. He used the tools, used his hands, did everything he could, but to his disappointment, the wood wouldn’t cooperate like it did with his father. It wouldn’t reveal itself like it did to his father. Link’s creations were far from beautiful and barely usable. His father patted him on the shoulder after each one and told him that he would learn. Each time, he sounded less and less confident and it became increasingly hard for Link to see the disappointment on his father’s face.

After one particularly disastrous workday—Link had managed to chisel his foot instead of the piece of acacia he had been working on—instead of going home for supper, Link ran to the river. He sat at the riverbank, watching the sun set and the moon rise. The moon was full that night—a silver orb so luminous it almost rivaled the light of day. Teary-eyed, Link stared at the shimmering reflection it cast over the slowly moving water.

At first, he thought it was the wind that brushed a lock of hair from his face. He shivered and tucked his hair behind his ear. But when he felt the touch again, he realized it was too warm for the season. Link turned, expecting to see his Mama or maybe even his father, but all he saw was his own shadow cast onto the sand by the bright moonlight. 

As soon as Link turned back towards the river, confused and frightened, he felt the touch again. This time it was a soft caress across his cheek, wiping away the drying tears of frustration. Startled, Link jumped up and around, his hands tightening into trembling fists.

“Who goes there? What are you playing at?” he croaked, words as shaky as his legs. No one answered. But something wasn’t quite right; something about the empty riverbank made his stomach twist and turn. It took a while for him to realize what it was. 

His shadow was still _sitting_.

Link stared at it for a beat, blinking a few times, making sure he wasn’t mistaken. He was standing, but the shadow still sat on the riverbank. Link swirled around, eyes on the ground, hoping to see his _actual_ shadow, hoping, for once, that he was being teased, that this was a strange prank concocted by the unkindest of his peers. Unable to find anything, he had to accept that what he was seeing was real. He turned back to look at his disobedient shadow.

“H-hello?” Link stammered, nudging the edge of shadow with his boot. The shadow shivered, its edges blurring and sharpening, but it didn’t get up. Slowly, Link sank back down onto the sand, facing his shadow—or the creature that had taken its place. Because _surely_ this couldn’t be his shadow, surely it was a creature of the night, something from folktales, something sinister and old that had taken the place of his shadow.

“What are you?” Link asked, trying to keep his voice level and brave. The shadow moved, making Link jerk back and yelp. After he regained his composure, he saw that the shadow was now sitting like him, legs crossed, head tilted to the side. Since there was no clear attempt at hurting him, Link settled.

He sat like that for a long time, staring at the apparition before him. It didn’t talk, not with words at least, but Link felt like he could sense its thoughts somehow. Not words exactly, more like its mood, its feelings. And what he felt was undeniably _good_. With every passing moment, Link became more and more certain that the creature was a friend. As the knowledge solidified in his mind, the shadow seemed to grow darker. 

“Who are you?” Link whispered, his voice filled with curiosity. The shadow lifted its arm and instead of moving across the ground as a normal shadow would, it rose into the air, looking almost like it was made of swirling black smoke. Link’s eyes widened and he sat frozen in place, waiting for another touch—craving it, in fact. 

But just when the shadowy fingers were about to brush over Link’s lips, he heard his Mama calling for him. There was a sudden feeling of air being forcibly pulled from Link’s lungs and he gasped and coughed, trying to catch his breath. When he was able to gather himself, his Mama was walking down the riverbank and his shadow… was just a normal shadow—if not a bit too big for him.

After that night, Link returned to the riverbank every night after work. He sat right where he had, peeking over his shoulder, hoping to see his shadow move on its own, hoping to feel the soft touch on his cheek. But nothing happened. 

Not until Link had almost given up. A month later, he was walking towards the river, weaving between small houses, crossing the narrow main street, bathing in the moonlight when something—someone?—tugged at his shirt sleeve. 

Link stopped and with his heart beating wildly, slowly turned to look behind him. His shadow was painted onto the cobbles of the road, its shoulders broad and its chest wide and hair on its head a mane of wild curls. Link glanced at his own slim waist, lean,and much shorter hair and then looked back at the shadow.

The shadow waved.

Link let out a surprised laugh and immediately slapped a palm over his mouth not to attract attention. He felt the shadow’s soundless laughter fill his chest and tickle at his throat. 

“Hi,” he whispered, glancing around them to make sure they were alone. “I was afraid I’d imagined you.”

The shadow shook its head and pointed. Link frowned, trying to figure out what it was pointing at. The shadow wiggled his finger determinedly and finally, drew a circle with it. Link’s head snapped towards the sky and at the full moon lighting the village below.

“Oh,” he said as the realization hit him. “The full moon? You can only do this when it’s a full moon?”

The shadow nodded and did a small, happy dance, the edges of its long legs undulating against the uneven stones. Link smiled and bit his lip as not to laugh again. He felt elated and somehow, he knew that part of the feeling of pure joy he felt wasn’t his—it was the shadow’s.

“Can you do that thing again? With your hand?” Link asked, thrilled with the possibility.

The shadow nodded and ever so slowly, its arm rose from the road, its faded form made from plumes of black smoke. Awed, Link reached for it. Their fingers intertwined, one hand made of flesh and blood and bone, the other of something otherworldly. Link’s skin buzzed and tingled and his heart darted into an ear-ringing beat. 

A door opened a few houses down and a group of voices started closing in on them. Panicked, Link pulled the shadow up and dragged it along with him, rushing off from the road, hiding behind the closest building. The voices grew louder and eventually passed, but Link’s heart refused to slow down. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, willing himself to calm down.

“ _Sssssh._ ”

Link’s eyes flew open. Was that the evening wind, swishing against the shell of his ear? He had to blink a few times, confused about his vision suddenly being blurry. 

“ _Ssssafe_ ,” a voice whispered into his ear, lodging Link’s heart into his throat. He realized that the blurriness was not a problem with his eyes, it was the shadow, standing in front of him, standing against him, with its mouth hovering right next to Link’s ear.

“You can talk?!” Link cried out and the shadow shushed him again. Link mumbled an apology. 

It was like he was fully enveloped by the shadow, engulfed inside it, in its warmth. _Safe._ He did feel safe and sound. Link sighed as relief flood through him. He let himself slump against the wall. 

The shadow seemed to be pleased with that. Link felt its approval as a soft hum inside his chest. 

The shadow made a sound, a purr almost, and lifted their hands, still intertwined and pressed its ghostly mouth against Link’s bare wrist. The tender touch sent shivers up Link’s arm that made their way into his belly and settled there, growing warm and squirmy.

Link lifted his free hand and gently touched the shadow’s face. It felt strange—almost solid in some parts but barely corporeal in others. 

“Can you—” Link paused and swallowed hard before continuing. “Can you kiss me?”

He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to ask that. Maybe it was the way the shadow made him feel. Happy and tingly and… _not alone._

The shadow ducked down— _it’s taller than me_ , Link noted absentmindedly—and brushed its lips against Link’s. As far as kisses go, it wasn’t much, but to Link, it was _everything_. His mouth opened into a soft exhale and his knees buckled. Silently, Link thanked the wall behind him, keeping him from falling. 

People never came near enough to touch Link, even in passing. He knew that his mother’s wishes of a nice girl and a litter of grandkids had been buried many years ago. He’d hidden his wishes away too. A wish to be kissed was something he only thought about in the dark of the night, alone in his bed when he imagined that he lived elsewhere. Somewhere where people didn’t balk when they saw him. Somewhere where he was a person someone would want to touch and kiss and love. It all felt like a fool’s dream.

But this thing… This apparition. This whatever-it-was had kissed him just like that. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was meant to be.

“ _Bad?_ ” Sadness trickled down Link’s spine and made him feel heavy and murky. His eyes flew wide open and he shook his head vigorously.

“No! Not bad. Good! So good. Very good. The goodest. I mean— I—” The words tumbled out of him in a rush and he had to pause to take a breath. He blushed when he asked quietly: “Again?”

In a flash, the sadness was replaced with bubbling joy and Link laughed and kissed and giggled and kissed and nuzzled and was pressed against the wall and kissed and kissed and kissed. 

And with each kiss, the shadow grew more real, grew more solid in Link’s embrace. It gasped for air like Link did. It moaned when Link’s mouth found its firm neck. Its fingers slipped under Link’s tunic and ghosted over his tented pants. Link could barely function by the time they sank onto the rough ground, tangled with each other. 

The next morning, Link woke up to a light tap on his leg. He jerked up from the ground, looking wildly around himself. The owner of the shop he’d fallen asleep behind was standing a few feet away, poking him with a broom, scowling at him.

Link’s hands reached for his shadow. The pain began even before he realized that he was alone again, that the being was gone, that his shadow had returned back to its normal, lifeless form. 


End file.
